Fifteen

Tyler

When the dinner dishes were done and the last load of laundry was in the dryer, we stretched out on the couch to watch TV. I practiced my sharing skills again by letting her control the remote, which was how I ended up watching something called Kids Baking Championship.

“What the hell is this?” I teased her. “Making cookies is now a competitive sport?”

“Yes, but don’t worry, it’s not mean. They’ve created a very supportive environment, and the kids can always get help or a hug when they need it.”

“Oh good, because I was very concerned,” I said, which earned me an elbow in the gut.

But I didn’t even really mind watching the show, since it felt so good just to lie on her couch beneath a blanket, an arm curled over her stomach, her back against my chest. In fact, I got kind of into it and found myself rooting for this little kid with thick glasses and a huge smile, who’d tried out for the show three times before he made it.

“That’s some serious determination,” I told April. “I dig that.”

She was all for this little dark-haired girl named Talia, the youngest contestant, but the one who spoke the most languages—her mom was Brazilian, her father was French, and she lived in Austin, Texas.

“Can you imagine speaking three languages?” she asked.

“No. One was hard enough. Remember how you used to have to write all my English papers for me?”

She clucked her tongue. “I didn’t write them for you—I just helped you organize your thoughts.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure it was more than that. School was never my thing. I hope our kid got your brains.”

Holy shit. Had I just said that? I couldn’t believe it—what the actual fuck? I’d never even thought anything like that before, let alone said it out loud.

Our kid?

April was silent, and her body seemed frozen.

“Sorry,” I said. “That was a weird thing to say. I have no idea why I said it.”

“It’s fine.”

But she was quiet after that, and I felt like I might have upset her. After a few more episodes, she turned off the TV and rolled to face me.

“I feel like I need to tell you something,” she said, playing with the buttons on my shirt.

“Okay.”

She looked at my chest while she talked. “I didn’t tell you this the other night when we talked about—about the adoption, because it just seemed like a lot all at once, but I . . . I recently reached out to the parents.”

“The mom?”

Her eyes met mine. “The people who adopted our son.”

“Oh.” My gut clenched, then turned over—again and again, just like it had the night she’d told me she was pregnant. “Why?”

“Because I want to meet him.”

My pulse had started to race. The blanket was too hot. “You do?”

“Yes.”

I had no idea what to say.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she said.

“I don’t,” I admitted, hoping it was better to be honest. “I’m sorry if that makes me sound like a dick. It’s just not something I’ve ever wanted.” Especially now that my name was synonymous with choke in major league baseball. The kid would just be embarrassed. The media would have a field day. My life would be upside down again—and I felt like I was just starting to right the ship.

April nodded. “I understand. And it doesn’t really have anything to do with you. But for me, I think it’s an important part of making my final peace with the decision to give him up. I think it will help me to be more open about it moving forward. And . . .” Her eyes filled. “Part of me just wants to see the person he’s grown up to be. In my own way, I still love him. I always have. Does that make any sense?”

“Sure,” I said, forcing myself to act like the man I wanted to be. I had no desire to come face to face with my biological son, but if she did, I’d support her. “And if it will make you feel better to meet him, I think you should do it.”

“You do?” she asked, her voice full of surprise.

“Of course. You deserve to have that peace. And he deserves to know the woman who loved him so much she gave him up because she knew it was the best possible thing for him.”

Her eyes closed, and she nodded. “It was the best thing. I know it was. And this isn’t about second-guessing my decision. It’s about owning it. Being proud of it. Letting it be a part of my life without feeling ashamed of it. And feeling like I still deserve to have a family in the future, even though I gave away a child.”

It made my chest hurt to hear her talk about being ashamed of what she’d done. “Of course you do. You’re so fucking brave. Do you know that?”

She opened her eyes and laughed a little. “Thanks. Believe it or not, I actually feel brave.”

“Good.” I paused. “So when is this happening?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard back yet. I might not ever hear back, if he’s not interested in meeting me.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

She sighed. “Yes. I would be. I hope I get a different answer, but if that’s the case, I’ll be okay.”

“And still be able to have peace and move on?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I pulled her closer to me, wrapping her tightly in my embrace. My stomach was still not entirely okay, but this time around, I was determined to remember this wasn’t only about me. In fact, it wasn’t about me at all. This was something she needed to do for herself, and she wasn’t asking me for anything—again.

The least I could do was be there for her this time.

Even if it was from a comfortable distance.

At practice on Wednesday, I worked with Chip Carswell for a solid hour on both his pitching motion and his pick-off throw. He was definitely the most talented pitcher on the team, but there were a few other kids that threw the ball fairly well, and David asked me if I might start working one-on-one with some of them too.

“They’re asking,” he said once practice was over. “And after seeing what you’re doing with Carswell, I know they’d benefit from your lessons on mechanics. We haven’t had a pitching coach really hammer those since my dad retired.”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be around, but I can work with a few more guys.”

“Some of the parents are calling too, inquiring about private coaching sessions, how much you’d charge and all that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want their money. If what I’m saying helps them, I’m good with that.”

“Oh, it’ll help. I wish you didn’t have to leave.” He looked out across the field. “Any chance you’d consider staying longer?”

“How much longer?”

“Until the end of the season? Hell, how about permanently? Would you consider moving back home and coaching full-time?”

I laughed. “I don’t think so.”